Red Chrysanthemum
by Chariline
Summary: florist!AU: USUK. Arthur Kirkland is an English lit. major living mainly in the worlds of the books he reads. What happens when he ventures outside of the literary world and meets Alfred F. Jones, a premed student currently working part-time as a florist? Will he realize that maybe there's more to life than the novels he so cleaves to? Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**"The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can truly love." (Jane Austen; Sense and Sensibility)**

* * *

It is in this frame of mind that Arthur Kirkland loses himself once more in the written word, the simply-embroidered finery that drapes his mind with the blanket of another's life, another's drama to trudge through, another's joys to peruse at his whim for the ever-elusive taste of happiness.

The emotion is hard to come by for the Englishman, so far from his home in London. Of course, New England was the closest he had managed to come by, in terms of his native land - Arthur was quickly discovering, however, that the only likeness to home was the region's name. The weather as well, perhaps, but there was far more sun and far less smog here, ruling that out as a similarity.

He hadn't wanted to come abroad. Arthur sighed, a tired sort of sound, and closed his novel, setting it down in his lap. The written word was not enough to distract him today.

His father had been the one to make arrangements for Arthur to leave his home in London and study abroad. "It will be good for you," the man had said, without an emotion to be found. Arthur had accepted his fate with a nod and retreated to his room to stare blankly at the walls, emotionally unequipped to deal with this change.

America wasn't terrible, though, Arthur thought, bringing himself out of the past. Yes, it was loud from its motorcars to its adverts to its people, but at least the people themselves were nice to him, if a bit standoffish. He had even met two other foreigners studying abroad at the same university, though each were in different majors and from different countries. In fact, Arthur thought with a glance to the clock hanging above his window, one of them should be showing up in—

"Arthur!" a male voice called out in cheerful warning before its owner paraded into the small sitting room of his friend's apartment. Arthur did not move from his spot by the window, but could describe the visitor without looking - Francois Bonnefoy, with wavy blond hair that grew past his ears and blue eyes with a playful sparkle to them, had come to call.

"Francois," Arthur returned quietly as the man took hold of the back of Arthur's chair and spun him around to face the room, rather than the view outside the window.

The man clicked his tongue and ran a gentle hand through his friend's hair, assessing him surreptitiously as he did so. He wondered if Arthur had slept recently, and, judging by the bags underneath his prominently green eyes, determined he had not. Finding the other man's hair satisfactory, Francois smiled. "I think it is time for you to get out of your house, oui?"

Arthur gave the Frenchman a small smile and ran a hand through his hair, undoing the work that had just been done to it. "That depends," he answered, "on where you're thinking of dragging me today." Every day since Arthur had met Francois, the man had insisted on taking him around the one-street town within walking distance and the city around their liberal arts university as well as the city around the medical university a few minutes away by bus. The change had been unwelcome to Arthur at first, but he had grown accustomed to it, as it had almost become routine.

Francois gave up on Arthur's hair. Who was he to interfere if the Englishman wanted to walk around looking like he had just rolled out of bed? "There is a lovely flower-shop in town that I need to visit, and you are coming with me," Francois told him, smile growing as he said it.

"And leave my Jane Austen behind?" Arthur asked, smiling and standing from his chair, a well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in his hand. "I'll get my coat."

"Mon ami, there is no need for a coat," Francois chuckled, gently taking the classic novel from Arthur and placing it on a bookshelf. He did not like the way the young man clung to them as if they were lifelines, even though his field of study was literature. "Were you not gazing so wistfully out of the window when I arrived? It is beautiful outside!" the Frenchman exclaimed with a wide smile, opening the door for Arthur and gesturing him out.

Arthur nodded, abandoning his coat and exiting as Francois held the door, glancing back once to see his book on the shelf before the door was closed behind him. The walk to ground level was companionable, if silent. Arthur rarely spoke first once they left his apartment, subconsciously adjusting to the change even now, as they left the apartment complex and began the walk down the sunny street, which led into the small town stuck between two large universities and would take all of seven minutes to walk.

"Is this a new shop?" Arthur asked, only realizing at that moment that there was silence between him and Francois. He did not feel an obligation to make noise; rather, he liked talking to his friend when he could and it was unusual that Francois had not taken the chance to speak already.

Francois cast a smile at Arthur, at the knowledge that he had chosen to speak first, and answered, "Non. In fact, it has been there for many years, but it has only just now begun to gain popularity."

"Why is that?"

"Word has it that there was recently a, hmm, a new addition to the shop," Francois said, smiling like he had a secret.

Arthur wanted to ask if he meant a new breed of flower or a new worker (with the man, it would easily evoke either reaction) when he noticed they were, in fact, directly across the street from said shop. Arthur frowned. He didn't remember turning onto Main Street, or the smells of the Starbucks they must have passed already. (Admittedly, Arthur could now smell coffee, though he realized it was from the indie coffee shop they were standing in front of.) "Is this a plot to get me to meet someone or find a new hobby?" Arthur asked abruptly, turning to face Francois and look up at him with a discerning eye.

Arthur had always been excellent at knowing when others were lying or keeping information from him, and Francois was no exception, even when he didn't give any indicators of being dishonest - _especially_ then. Francois sighed in defeat. "Oui, oui, vous m'avez pris. In my defense, I am worried about you, cher." The man's voice took on a softer tone, making his French accent more prominent as he faced Arthur as well and looked into his eyes, blue eyes gentle. "You need to find more friends to be around, Arthur, even though all you care about are your livres, your paroles. Will you try for me, s'il vous plaît?"

Arthur blinked once and sighed, accepting the words Francois was saying to him. He knew they came from his friend's heart - or at least somewhere near the organ. "I don't think I can trust such an innocent face," Arthur replied, smiling slightly, "but if you go in with me, I might consider going along with your plan."

Francois brightened immediately and nodded in agreement. The pair faced the street, which wasn't busy at all, and crossed easily, arms brushing as they kept drifting into each other. Pausing outside the door, Francois sneezed. "Allergique," he explained in a half-wheeze. Arthur raised a slightly thicker-than-normal eyebrow at his friend, but opened the door and walked inside, Francois trailing behind.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Oui: Yes  
Mon ami: My friend  
Non: No  
Vous m'avez pris: You caught me  
livres: books  
paroles: words  
s'il vous plaît: please  
Allergique: Allergic**

**Hello all! Strange to put a greeting at the bottom, but I thought it would look nicer down here than up above with the quote. :) In any case, I've missed this account dearly! This summer has been a definite plot-bunny season, so have the first chapter to one of these ideas. Please leave me a review letting me know if you liked this or not, if my characterizations are okay, if I made any mistakes regarding grammar or translations (I don't speak a lick of French), or just to say hello! Thank you for your time!**

**~Chari**


	2. Chapter 2

**"We men of study, whose heads are in our books, have need to be straightly looked after!" (Nathaniel Hawthorne; The Scarlet Letter)**

* * *

The first thing Arthur noticed were the _colors_. Riotous reds and tumultuous yellows crashed together as vibrant orange smack dab in the middle of the room. And the greens - the greens were absolutely everywhere, peppering the bright hues with a splash of sanity for the weary eye. His fingers itched for pen and paper to jot down the phrases niggling at the back of his mind—_jungle of brilliance perfumed with ancient scents_—when it was interrupted by Francois sneezing again.

"Perdon, mon ami, je suis allergique aux fleurs," he explained with a small sniffle.

"Do you need to go outside?" Arthur asked, turning to face his friend with a slight frown. He didn't want the Frenchman to risk a reaction - he hadn't known Francois to be allergic to flowers, but he would be keeping that in mind from now on - and if he didn't have to stay in the shop, Arthur would not count that as a loss.

To the Englishman's dismay, however, Francois shook his head. "Non, non. I will be fine. Go explore, Arthur," he prompted with a gentle smile and light "shoo"-ing wave of his hand.

Resigning himself to his time in the shop, Arthur nodded and, turning to face the brilliant display of flowers before him, walked further into the shop.

It was easy enough to navigate, though large, that was certain. Everything truly is bigger in America, Arthur thought wryly, pausing by a trough of bright yellow flowers. Absently, his fingers reached out and brushed against the small, soft petals. It's like holding a cup full of sunshine, the Brit mused to himself, his hand moving to cup underneath a sprig of the cheerful flower.

"Finding everything okay?" a cheerful male voice asked from behind him.

Arthur started and released the flowers, turning around to face the man who had spoken. He was taller than Arthur, though only by a few inches, and wore a white apron smudged with dirt and various colors from what could only be assumed to be crushed flower petals. "I'm all right, thank you," Arthur replied, a bit stiffly, as he looked up and into the man's eyes. Behind a pair of golden-rimmed spectacles, sky-blue eyes flashed as the man grinned.

"Wow, are you from England?" he asked, looking at Arthur with more interest than before. "My name's Alfred, by the way. Alfred F. Jones."

Arthur resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at the man's reaction to his accent. Typical American. "It's nice to meet you, Alfred. My name is Arthur. Kirkland," he replied, adding his last name almost as an afterthought, and then mentally kicked himself for doing so. Did he honestly want this clod to find him later? Arthur could already hear Francois telling him, though, that loneliness often fought to be fixed, and bit back a small smile.

Alfred was still looking at him.

Arthur frowned. "Excuse me, but do you always stare at your customers for this length of time? I find it highly inappropriate."

Not surprisingly, the American flushed at Arthur's comment. "No, I—" he cut himself off, however, and averted his eyes to the floor for a moment before returning the steady gaze of his endlessly blue eyes to Arthur's face. "Did you know that buttercups, those yellow flowers you were lookin' at, symbolize childishness in the flower world?" he asked abruptly.

Arthur raised one slightly thicker-than-average brow.

Much to Arthur's amusement, Alfred went on, stumbling a bit over his words. "You'd think that, that they'd mean happiness, because they're so bright and all, but they really don't. See, all flowers, all of these flowers, have a different meaning in the flower world. Some of 'em overlap but they're all still _different_ in some way. And—"

Arthur held up one hand and the American silenced himself. "That is all well and good," he said quietly, "but I believe I'm done for today. Excuse me." Arthur put his hand down and walked around Alfred, heading back to the front display in the hopes that Francois would be waiting somewhere nearby. He had known that this was not going to end well, that it would only serve to enforce Arthur's ideas that he only belonged in his novels, and that, in general, he did not fare well when around other people.

"Wait!" the Englishman heard from behind him, and, sighing, he turned around. Of course. Alfred F. Jones had decided to follow him on his way out. The American was at least a year younger than Arthur, who was twenty-one - and had his message not been clear enough the first time? Arthur did not have a problem setting the other man straight, however, and had the words waiting on the tip of his tongue for when Alfred reached him. "If you misunderstood me—" he began, only to be interrupted by the American himself.

"I get offa work at eight tonight, do you wanna go out and grab a cup of coffee, or tea, or something?" Alfred asked, the words nearly bursting out of him.

Well, Arthur had not been expecting to hear _that._ He had only been asked out on a date once before, but it hadn't worked out, in romantic terms. "Erm, I—" Arthur was planning to say that he was busy, he had to work (even though today was his day off), he had a paper to write. None of those excuses came out. What did come out, however, was, "I would like that, yes."

Alfred positively beamed at him. "Great! That's awesome! I, uh, I'll meet you here, then, yeah? And here," Alfred gently pressed something into Arthur's hands and the Brit vaguely registered that the American's hands were warm and slightly callused before he pulled them away and added, "So that you don't forget. See you!" The American grinned and gave a small wave before turning and walking off to another section of the store.

In the next moment, Arthur found his elbow being taken lightly by familiar fingers, which led him out of the flower shop and across the street before the Englishman could catch up with the events that had just transpired and find his voice. "It was a moment of insanity," he muttered, an obstinate frown already appearing on his face as he and Francois began the short walk back to Arthur's apartment.

"Whatever the case may be, I am so proud of you, cher!" Francois exclaimed with a wide smile and a light squeeze to Arthur's arm, which he now had linked through his own. "And he gave you a parting gift. Gloxinia?" the Frenchman commented, peering at what Arthur now realized was a flower in his hands.

"How did you know that?" he asked, examining the plant. The petals were a deep, majestic purple with ruffled edges; the flower stood up proudly in his grip and the bright pink center popped out in contrast to its surroundings with confidence.

"It is on the card attached to it," Francois replied, a touch of amusement in his voice at his friend's lack of observation of the obvious fact.

Looking more closely at the flower, and its dark green stem in particular, Arthur noticed there was a small white card attached to the stem by a white string, on which it read "Gloxinia" and, in smaller print beneath it, "_Sinninga speciosa fyfiana_", both handwritten. "So there is," he muttered as they ascended the staircase to Arthur's apartment.

Francois saw the Brit inside and made sure that his friend placed the flower in a tall glass of water by the open window. "To keep it fresh," the Frenchman explained as he set it on the sill. "And this way, you will be able to admire it as you read, oui?" For Arthur had already reclaimed the novel that he had been forced to abandon earlier from the shelf and settled in his chair, opening to the page where he had left off. After a moment of watching Arthur re-acclimate to his surroundings, Francois asked, "Voulez-vous que j'aille avec vous ce soir?"

Without looking up from the page he was on, Arthur replied in perfect French, "Si ce n'est pas vous déranger." He had taken French since he had started primary school and was now fluent in the language, though he did not often choose to speak in French, preferring his native tongue.

Francois nodded and left the apartment quietly, leaving Arthur to become one with his books again.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Oui: Yes  
Non: No  
Mon ami: My friend  
Cher: Dear  
Perdon: Excuse me; Pardon me  
Je suis allergique aux fleurs: I am allergic to the flowers  
Voulez-vous que j'aille avec vous ce soir?: Do you want me to go with you tonight?  
Si ce n'est pas vous déranger.: If it does not bother you.  
**

**There we are, then! Again, if there any problems with the translations, please let me know. I don't speak French at all and am using Google Translate (I know, it's awful) and some slight guidance from a few of my friends who do take French. Please drop me a review and let me know what you think of this so far! Thank you, and I hope to see you again. :)**

**~Chari **


End file.
